You Gotta Do What You Gotta Do

Disclaimer: I don't own the Potterverse. Nope.

A/N: So you know that song, "Build God then We'll Talk" by Panic! At the Disco? This is my…tribute to it, in a manner of speaking.

Summary: Pansy needs this job. She really, really does. If she has to sleep with someone to get there, so be it.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

She was nervous.

Well, duh. She'd just thrown away the last shred of self esteem when she agreed to meet the middle aged lawyer in this substandard motel tonight. Pansy was a virgin (though not many believed it of her) but she wasn't that much of a virgin as to think that he was coming on 'strictly business'.

"May I help you, miss?" the receptionist asked, his gaze scraping over her figure. Pansy fingered the hem of her too-short skirt, and bit her lip.

"I'm waiting for someone. A gentleman by the name of David Hook."

"I see," the man replied, a small smile gracing his lips. "Well, you could take a seat, if you'd like—"

The bell on the door chimed as it opened, and a tall, broody looking man entered.

"Mr. Hook," Pansy nodded, her stomach heaving. The balding man appraised her lithe form, a lecherous look in his eyes.

"Miss Parkinson. So glad you could make it," he purred, sending shivers of revulsion up and down her spine, "I have reserved a room for our meeting on the second floor. I shall meet you there."

"Yes sir," she gulped.

"Please, call me David."

Like hell.

000000000000000000000000

She entered the room, and squeaked when a roach the length of her small finger skittered across the floor. Roaches. Ugh, how she hated roaches. But she'd rather have their company than the man that was probably heading upstairs right now.

Moonlighting aside, she really needed his money. The law firm was her last chance. A muggle's job; hah, if her father could see her now! Sleeping with an old man for a muggle's job. The Parkinson had fallen far.

"Pansy?" the man entered, a little out of breath from taking the stairs, "Please, make yourself comfortable."

She hesitated, and he took her hand, guiding the young girl to the bed. "Take a seat," he chuckled, "I don't bite. Well, not unless you want me to."

She tried to smile, she really did. But the thought of his teeth on her skin was enough to make her want to run screaming all the way to Draco, and beg him to take her back.

But she still had a vague shred of pride left, and though she doubted it would survive the night, it wasn't dead yet, and she didn't run. He pushed her back onto the sheets, and she tried to take her mind off him by guessing what shade they'd been before all the stains. A gasp escaped her when the man pulled her skirt down, exposing her pale blue panties. She shut her eyes, and hoped that whatever the hell was going to happen would happen quickly enough so she could pretend it didn't happen. A weight settled over her, and something was tugging her panties away, and spreading her legs, and then something really, really hurt—was this sex? What was so good about this? A pair of lips latched onto hers, and she muffled a scream, managing to turn into a moan, which he took as encouragement, then he bit her, what the fuck was this? He bit at her skin, and it didn't feel good, she felt like an overly friendly hamster was running around her, digging its tiny dewclaws into her enough to feel it, but not hurt.

Then there was a weird sensation—a wet sensation. Pansy wondered hazily if she'd wet herself, then realized that the man must be done doing whatever he'd done.

For this, she'd kept her virginity? Might as well have given it to Blaise, back in Hogwarts, when he'd hounded her. Might as well have given it to the hot manwhore that she'd seen on her way here.

"I think," he panted, "You'll find a seat in our office come this Monday."

Ah, for this she'd sacrificed her virginity. For a job she didn't want in a world she hated.

It's so good to know your actions aren't in vain.

"Thank you sir," she said, and got up. He watched her dress hungrily, as though expecting more. "You should take a shower," he said huskily, and she realized she'd bled…of course. It had been her first time, and besides, his fluids were still in her. Resisting the urge to puke, she undressed again and took a shower, and when she came out, he was already gone. There was a note with a hundred pound bill taped to it. She picked up the paper, and it read A little something more, for my new protégée.

She stared at the hundred note, her stomach rumbling loudly. He tipped her. He'd tipped her, like she was some lousy whore. And she was, wasn't she? What kind of person slept with someone for a job? A very desperate person, that was who.

She pocketed the money, and crumpled the note and threw it in a corner. A giant cockroach came to investigate it, and then turned away.

The little shred of pride fell away like the last dead leaf on an autumn tree, and Pansy Parkinson sat down on the bed and cried.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Panic! At the Disco ROCKS!!